


Silver Scales

by gildedfrost



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mermaids, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Case Fic, M/M, MerMay, Murder, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2020-03-01 09:12:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18797359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gildedfrost/pseuds/gildedfrost
Summary: Gavin Reed knows what to expect in his line of work. Murder, drugs, and all other sorts of depravity. All part of the human condition.That is, up until he finds out that humans aren't alone--and aren't the only ones with murder on their minds.





	1. Chapter 1

“What the fuck, Anderson?”

The words are out of Gavin’s mouth in the timeframe after he’s figured out he’s looking at something odd yet before his mind can piece together thoughts into something that makes enough sense to temper his tongue. Speaking before he thinks appears to be a natural talent of his, to his own dismay, as he realizes the thin ice he’s already on when Hank’s face whips around the corner, giving him a rather disgruntled look from beyond the hallway.

It almost matches the sharp glare from the man in Hank’s bathtub once the words have been said, the stranger’s expression dipping from neutral to cold in the span of only a few seconds. It is undoubtedly the sternest expression he has seen on a naked man and one he would rather not invite again.

He shuts the door.

“Reed, do you have any sense of privacy?” Hank grouses, stepping back out of sight to grab a mug for the currently-brewing coffee. “You push yourself into my house, tell me we’ve got work to do, and suddenly decide you gotta poke your nose in my bathroom?”

“The light was on,” Gavin says. He may not be the neatest person around, but some things just ask to be put in order, like lights being left on when they really don’t need to be. In hindsight, it sounds like a feeble excuse, but he had no way of knowing Hank had some guy hidden away in there. “But, uh, heh. Didn’t know you were into that sort of kinky shit.”

Hank’s eyes slide back to him.

Thin ice. Right. He might as well be holding a blowtorch to it if he keeps running his mouth.

Really, it isn’t any of his business that Hank’s got a guy lounging in his bathtub. Naked and handsome, with messy, short brown hair and a freakishly big fish tail that only half fit under the water, shiny with varying shades of silver and grey, pale fins folded in along the sides. It wasn’t as bright as he’d expect a mermaid tail to be, but no doubt they’d come in all sorts of colors, considering the probable price range of such realistic props.

Best to ignore the man. He doesn’t need to think about how the two know each other _(Is he an escort? Are they friends with benefits? Are they dating?)._ He definitely doesn’t need to think about those muscular arms and sturdy chest.

No, sir. He won’t think about that at all.

“So…”

“Fowler told you to come to me for ‘weird shit,’ right?” Hank asks, repeating Gavin’s words from earlier. It’s giving them both an out from the awkwardness of the situation. “Did you run this case by him first, or did you jump to the conclusion that I’d be happy to help out? Because this better be good, or I’m dragging your ass back to the precinct and making sure he hears about this.”

“I didn’t just come here to see your--” Gavin’s mouth shuts closed with a click. _Get it together._ “Look. I called the captain and he stopped me before I could give him details. Told me to call you. Have you even looked at your phone tonight?”

Hank shrugs. “I let it go to voicemail.”

“Wow. Thanks.” Gavin leans against the wall. “There was a homicide. John Doe. Scene’s been documented, body’s been taken away, but the rest of the evidence is still there. He was, uh, stabbed in the stomach. Bled out.”

“Tonight?”

“Yeah.”

“You couldn’t even wait til tomorrow? Christ, you can get plenty of work done in that time before--”

“He had three scars, either side of his neck.” Gavin gestures to his own lower neck. “Ring a bell?”

Hank stills.

Of course it rings a bell. Hank’s got the same ones in the same place. He can hide them with a high enough collar, sure, but he doesn’t cover them up fully. They’re more healed than the victim’s, that’s for sure--those ones still looked red, probably recent--but they’re about the same size and with the same jagged edge.

Thinking about it now--and he really shouldn’t, he told himself not to--the stranger in the bathroom looked to have the same, but thinner. Less painful-looking.

Didn’t he? Or is his mind making up details now?

“His neighbors said he never talked much, didn’t even know his name. The landlord couldn’t tell me much either. His apartment was pretty empty. Fridge, too. Nothing but seafood and beer. So.” He meets Hank’s gaze. “Sound like your kind of weird stuff?”

Hank’s face wrinkles into a grimace. “Yeah.” The word sounds heavy on his tongue. “Sounds like my kind of weird.” He pours himself some coffee. “You should go home. Let me take over the case, Reed.”

“Whoa, whoa,” he says, barking out a laugh. “What? I didn’t come here to pass off the case, I just need you to take a look and let me know what the hell you know about this.”

The clock ticks loudly as the seconds pass, Hank sipping at his drink.

“You’re serious.” Gavin shakes his head. “Fucking hell, man. I can do my damn job.”

“You got a tablet on you?” Hank asks. Gavin nods. “Show me the vic.”

Grudgingly, he pulls the tablet out from his pocket. It’s a little larger than a phone. “This some gang shit?”

“Could be, but not any you’d be familiar with. Not likely to be drug-related, either. But I’d need an ID on the body and information on the killing method before I make any assumptions.”

“You think it’s something we’ve seen before?” Gavin hands over the tablet, the first image opened up. It’s a peaceful one, all things considered, of only the man’s face. He’s not sure how people can say pictures like this look like the deceased is only sleeping; actual images of people sleeping aren’t something he usually runs across. The pictures always creep him out if he looks at them too much.

“Not exactly.” Hank sets down the mug, slowly flipping through the pictures. The air feels tense, but at least Hank’s frustration is no longer fully directed at Gavin. The older man doesn’t even wince when he works through the more grisly photos.

“Stabbed” is how Gavin had put it, but that was a generous interpretation of the crime. Rather, there was evidence of stab wounds on the abdomen, but for the rest of the damage, it would be more accurate to say that it looked like he’d been mauled by something big, like a puma or a bear. A dog couldn’t be ruled out.

The bloody boot prints leading away from the scene guarantee human involvement.

Hank briefly glances towards the hallway where the bathroom is. “This is gonna piss you off, Reed, but I’m taking the case.”

 _Not a chance._ Anger and frustration simmer under his skin. “Anderson, I’m a detective. I have the full ability to handle this case--on my own, if I have to. I didn’t come here to have you do my work for me.”

“Reed.” His voice is firm. “As a higher ranking officer, I am ordering you off the case. This has nothing to do with your capability.”

Gavin crosses his arms, taking a good look at Hank’s face. It’s as serious as he’s ever seen it. He mulls over the pieces in his mind and settles on one: Hank hardly spent any time at all looking at the victim’s face. “You know who he is.”

“I have information and connections that you don’t, and can’t, have. This is… delicate.”

“You think I’ll fuck it up.” There’s something in Hank’s eyes that tells him as much. “This _is_ about what you think about my capability.”

“No, it’s about the fact that you’re not involved in the fucked up politics that all this entails, and I’d like to keep it that way, because this”--he gestures to the tablet--”is what happens when you screw something up.”

“You think that’ll improve if you keep me in the dark, huh?” Gavin shakes his head. “This is fucking ridiculous.”

Hank huffs. “Tell me about it.”

Gavin squints at him, taken off guard. “What?”

“Like I said: Politics. Don’t take it to heart. I don’t want to see you dead, and I don’t want to put my neck on the line just to involve you in something you shouldn’t be.”

Three knocks sound against the wall in the direction of the bathroom.

“Your ‘friend’ done with his bath?”

Hank steps forward, guiding Gavin towards the front door. “I’m keeping the tablet. Write up a report of your impressions and send it to me in the morning. I’ll head out tonight to take a look at the scene.”

“That’s it? That’s all you’re gonna say?”

“Yep.” He opens the door. “Text Fowler and tell him I took over. Get some sleep. Pick up a new case tomorrow. Sound good?”

“No. Anderson, you can’t just…”

The door closes and the lock clicks.

Gavin takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly. He counts to ten, then turns around, heads for his car, and pulls out his phone to dial Captain Fowler.

* * *

 

Connor’s laying back in the bathtub, head next to the tap, when Hank finally enters the bathroom. He turns his head slightly to look at him and quirks an eyebrow.

“That’s just Reed,” Hank says dismissively. “Don’t worry about him.”

“He’s human,” Connor says. “He saw me.”

It’s an unfortunate outcome. Considering Hank’s reaction, it is, hopefully, not one to worry about. It wouldn’t be out of the realm of possibility for a human to dress as a mermaid, and without more than a glance--albeit a lingering glance, his sharp eyes noticed--the human can’t have gotten a very good look at him. Nor did he see his hands, with opaque webbed skin stretching between the fingers and two-inch long, slightly curved grey claws where nails would be.

Or his wound.

If the human were to return in the same manner at some other time, that could become an issue.

“Who died?” he finally asks.

Hank pushes aside the curtain and shampoo bottles to sit on the small section at the end of the tub across from Connor. “Old Greg,” he says. “He’s always been a dick, but someone must’ve finally snapped and gone for him. It looks personal.”

“Stabbed, your friend said.”

“He’s definitely not my friend,” Hank says, shaking his head with a slight smile. “Detective Gavin Reed. I have to see his ugly mug every time I enter the precinct. He’s good at his work, but an asshole, and doesn’t know when to quit. He’s gonna chew me a new one when he realizes I’m officially closing this case.”

“You don’t think a human did it?”

“No, not a chance. Guy was clawed up by a mer pretty bad.” He tilts his head. “Know anything about it?”

“Of course,” Connor says dryly. “I know absolutely everything all other merfolk get up to. You got me. I know exactly who did it.”

Hank sighs. “I’m trying to be serious here.”

Connor holds to the sides of the tub and shifts his body with his strong tail muscles, ending up in more of a sitting position as he pushes more of his tail under the water. It’s uncomfortable, and not strictly necessary, but the dryness of his scales is akin to thirst and the cold water like a balm. “He’s a sea elf; any of the local mer could be a suspect. I can’t think of any who have recently consorted with elves, nor who have had negative personal dealings.”

“Not anyone?” Hank nudges his tail. “Not even yourself?”

“Aside from myself.” Connor rolls his eyes. “I haven’t paid any attention to Old Greg for years. I think you’re the only elf I’ve shared more than a few sentences with in the past few months.”

“Half-elf,” Hank points out.

“You are the only person of elven descent I consider a friend,” Connor says. “Or human descent, for that matter. It’s possible a non-mer could be involved in your murder. Have you considered the possibility that more than one person was involved in the crime?”

“It’s possible, but not at the top of my list. I’ll need to take a look at the crime scene.” He nods at Connor’s tail. “Need any help?”

It was a rather unfortunate turn to Connor’s day that he ended up injured. He’d been making the trip from Lake Huron to Lake Erie--a three-hour trek from exit to entrance on a good day, ignoring the rest of the miles he needed to travel--only to get his tail sliced up on sharp debris at the bottom of Lake St. Clair. It really isn’t fair how shallow or busy that lake is.

He had booked it to the canals, hauled himself out on the docks behind Hank’s place, pushed through the gate in the fence, and squirmed his way over to bang on Hank’s back door. Needless to say the man had been pretty worried, but thankfully, the wound had proved itself superficial. The concern had become preventing infection and making sure it heals properly. An antiseptic spray, already applied, should hopefully be enough, but he’s stuck on land until the pain eases enough for him to be able to swim to his destination.

Overall, Connor’s having a pretty bad day.

“Get me a drink. And a tablet, if you’ve got a spare.”

“A drink. Really?”

“Something stronger than beer. I’ve had a day. And I’m not even getting the pleasure of your company.”

“Hah. The pleasure.” Hank stands, stretching. “I’ll be back before you know it. Oh, before I forget, when did you last eat? I’ll stop by the store after.”

Connor sighs. “You don’t need to look after me. I can get my own food in the morning.”

“Fresh trout’s on sale.”

“Is it really fresh if it’s been sitting out all day?” Connor asks.

“Trout it is.”

Connor slides his torso back into the bath, letting his tail spill over onto the surface where Hank previously sat. “Fine. And... Thank you. You didn’t need to help me today.”

“Hey, what’re friends for?” Hank smiles at him. “You can repay me by helping me figure out who the hell did this.”

“Yes, sir.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We'll get some Connor and Gavin interaction next chapter... 
> 
> Additional tags and characters will be added as they become relevant.


	2. Chapter 2

“Anderson!” Gavin calls, flinging himself out of his chair and marching over to Hank’s desk. “What the fuck, man?"

Hank stares at his screen, seemingly ignoring him as he clicks through a couple of pages, observing them briefly. He turns to look up at him right before Gavin loses his patience. “Need something, detective?” he asks cheerily.

Gavin slams a hand down on the desk. Of course he’d play coy. “The case. The one we talked about last night.”

“What about it?” Hank turns back, scanning the information on his terminal.

“It’s closed. Out of my hands. Can’t access the details at all. The captain told me it was reassigned, but…” He leans in close. “You closed it without an arrest. Without an _investigation._ Anderson, this goes beyond what I’d even think you’re capable of. Blatant negligence? Digging the grave for your own career? What the hell’s wrong with you?”

Those blue eyes slide back to meet his. “The case is open,” he informs. Gavin has to keep a lid on his embarrassment for jumping to the conclusion that it was closed, but then reminds himself that, yes, the system did in fact inform him that it was closed. “Paper documents only. This one’s above your paygrade. Actually,” he says, holding up a finger, and Gavin seethes at the slight grin on his face. “It’s more like a specialty thing. I think you’d be personally capable of handling everything involved in this case, but I don’t trust you not to fuck it all up because you’re missing vital information that I can’t just give you in a briefing.”

Gavin stands back up, crossing his arms. “Try me.”

“No.”

“Anderson--”

 _“Lieutenant_ Anderson.”

 _“Lieutenant.”_ Gavin grits his teeth. “Why don’t you trust me to do my job with the information you can give me?”

“Technically, it’s classified, and I’m the only one Fowler trusts to handle this shit. All this is on a need to know basis, and since I can take the case, that means _you_ don’t need to know.”

Being assigned the case in the first place certainly makes him in need of knowing, Gavin thinks. Moreso when he considers that the scars on his neck might indicate a conflict of interest or perhaps even danger to Hank himself. “Who’s next in line when you’re out?” he asks. “Who’s in the need to know loop for homicides where a guy’s been mauled and has those freaky scars?”

Hank grins. “Fowler’s got it covered, don’t worry about it. Just keep your head out of this one, alright?”

He can’t.

The man in the bathtub might even be involved, and that too makes Gavin uncomfortable, but he’s not sure there’s a good way to bring that up right now and he’d rather not think of the implications of that man in that place at that time. “Whatever,” he says instead. Hank told him to drop the case, and then Fowler backed him up rather fiercely, and now he’s being told to drop it again, so really, he has no room to move without actively disobeying orders from two higher steps on the command chain.

It doesn’t mean he won’t investigate it off the record, but what would be the point of that? He’d just retrace the same steps Hank takes as long as they’re not sharing information and it would likely end up a waste of time.

He could at least poke his nose in and find out what Hank won’t tell him. A little bit of digging never hurt anyone, although he already bailed on movie night with Tina last week and twice in a row may, in fact, end up with him facing some form of retribution.

Plans can be made later, when Hank is not seconds away from telling him to fuck off.

“Just let me know what you find out,” Gavin says, slinking back to his own desk. But he’s off the case and Hank knows it, so he doubts he’ll ever hear anything about it even after it’s resolved, considering the secrecy surrounding all of this.

 _Classified._ Sure.

A year from now, it won’t even matter to him, and he considers abandoning the investigation outright; except he’ll be thinking about it every time he sees Hank’s scars, and there’s no way he can push down his curiosity forever.

He sighs, signing back into his terminal and mentally rescheduling his nosiness for Saturday, hoping the decision settles his mind enough to focus on his actual work.

At least, as long as he’s not barging into Hank’s place, he won’t be running into mermaid man again anytime soon.

 

* * *

 

Connor pokes at his frappuccino with a straw, observing the thickness of the sugary concoction and ruining one perfect side of the whipped cream and caramel syrup on top. Condensation drips down the side of the plastic cup. “Markus? I do not believe this qualifies as coffee or anything even in the realm of coffee.”

“It’s a caramel _mocha_ frapp,” Markus points out, sipping at his his own confection, something horridly pink in a way that reminds Connor of medicine more than sugar. “Ergo, it’s coffee.”

“Shut up, Markus,” North says. Her drink is deceptively green for the amount of sugar it has. “If we wanted coffee, we’d be at one of your hipster cafés instead.”

The three of them are seated outside a Starbucks, drinking in the August warmth and sunlight on a Friday afternoon and dressed for the weather with t-shirts and shorts, though Markus stands out a little with the thin fashion scarf at his neck as always (“Josh says it suits me,” he insists, and Josh never denies it), and the bandage on Connor’s left leg is visible from beneath his shorts, but it hasn’t garnered that much attention so he does not mind.

It’s been a week since his incident in the lake forced him to stay at Hank’s place for a couple of days and is his first day back in Detroit since then, giving him some opportunity to investigate the case Hank asked for his help with, though seeing his friends was rather high on his priority list (and, he told himself, they may even know something, but it turned out that they did not), and it was not a bad idea to stretch his land legs before getting to work.

Before surfacing, he made sure to conserve his energy to endure the extended shift he would need for the coming days; sustaining a fully human form beyond a few hours is taxing on even the strongest of mer. Markus is a curious exception in that he appears to work the opposite way, maintaining a mostly-human form (albeit with the evident gills and second, retractable row of teeth) and only able to shift to his true form for a few hours at a time, but that is a mystery Connor has never pried into, and he completely stopped questioning it once he gained access to Markus’ adoptive family’s non-chlorinated indoor pool because he’s pretty sure Markus got the better end of the deal, being able to swim whenever he wants _and_ use non-waterproof technology.

For that matter, he’s a little jealous of Hank, too, but the elf swims at half his speed, and besides which he does quite appreciate the life expectancy of his species, being already twice Hank’s age and nowhere near grey, and North, too, being thrice Hank’s age.

To say Markus and Hank are exceptions to the norm is not inaccurate, but the amount of time Connor and North spend on the surface is yet another deviation generally frowned upon by their people. It is difficult venturing on land so often; they need to rely on familiar humans or safehouses to get clothes, money, and access to technology, and doing so outside of strictly necessary situations is considered unusual.

Neither one cares, though it certainly made the past week difficult as Connor tried asking around for information from people who aren’t very keen on him.

The whipped cream atop his drink tilts over sadly, drops of cream trailing down the side. He sips through the straw, and the milkshake-esque drink is almost too sweet for his taste, but it’s tolerable and not altogether unpleasant. His diet should be absent of processed sugar--it wouldn’t do for him to get sugar cravings while at the bottom of a lake--but indulging has not ruined him yet, and besides which, Markus is buying (as usual, considering the other two are rather lacking in bank accounts and cash).

“Please tell me these are not a typical part of your diet,” Connor says, looking at Markus. At least a few humans in the café are drinking the same disastrous drinks. “A latte is bad enough.”

“Don’t you like it?”

“I do,” Connor decides, “but I think it’s going to give me a headache.”

“I think that’s just Markus,” North says, earning herself an elbow to the side. “At least you’ve tried one now.”

“Hmm. It’s a typical human invention, but I was expecting more coffee.” He sips some more. “Do either of you have plans for the weekend?”

“Yeah,” North says. Her drink is half gone; at least hers appears to have real matcha in it. “I’m heading out after this so I can spend the weekend in Yf’voss looking after my baby cousin. Near Cleveland,” she says for Markus’ benefit. The younger man is as much a surfacer as Hank. “I might stay the week, but I’ll call once I know for sure.”

“I’m free Sunday,” Markus says. “Do you have anything planned?”

“Not really.” He glances over to the inside of the building, regretting not grabbing a napkin but also not eager to leave the table just for that. “I’m helping Hank with something, but I have time otherwise.”

North leans forward. “Not cop shit again?”

“North…”

“You quit that decades ago,” she says, voice low. “You don’t need to get involved again.”

Sometimes it feels like she minds more than he does that he used to bring in merfolk to face judgment. It’s good, in a way; it keeps him grounded, ensures he does not forget either the person he was or the changes he has undergone.

“This isn’t Vrylthun. I’m not looking for someone who’s flouted responsibility or tradition.” It’s the kindest way to put what he did. “This is someone who might hurt others again. If I can help prevent that from happening, I will. I want to.”

She holds his gaze. “As long as you’re certain.”

“Very.”

“Where’s Vrylthun?” Markus asks, sipping patiently at his strawberry frappuccino. It’s almost finished. “Canada?”

“Close,” Connor says. “South of the Iberian Basin.”

Markus thinks for a moment while North rolls her eyes. “Iberia… So that would be in the Mediterranean?”

“Atlantic, about two days west of Lisbon. One, if you’re in a hurry.”

“A couple hundred miles,” North supplies. “It’s where we spent most of our lives. We haven’t been back.” She looks at Connor curiously. “At least, I haven’t, but I know someone here has a tendency to make rash decisions.”

“Other than yourself?” Connor scoops a dollop of whipped cream onto his finger and pops it in his mouth. “I’ve made some trips back to Iberia and Azores, but not Vrylthun or the settlements under its influence. I don’t know if they still want me dead.” He frowns at his hand, recalling that he has no napkin and has now put himself in an unfortunate position. “Excuse me,” he says, standing and heading for the door. The other two continue to chat and he hears a cup sliding across the table; predictably, Markus is after a taste of his drink.

The café is not busy and the napkins are right next to the door, so it should be easy to simply grab a few and leave without any interpersonal interaction with strangers, as he prefers.

Unfortunately, this very easy plan falls apart after he grabs his napkins.

He feels eyes on him from the left--a table on the other side of the entrance with a single customer seated at it, facing into the café and away from the window. The man is dressed casually in a shirt and jeans and appears to be enjoying a sandwich with his coffee, but the face is a rather unique one, lined with stubble and with a scar across the nose. A faint blush colors his cheeks when he sees Connor, but he doesn’t look away in embarrassment; rather, he looks at Connor with a sort of intensity that Connor finds just intriguing enough not to ignore.

The man doesn’t drop his gaze over the next few seconds, so Connor takes it as an invitation and slides into the seat across from him, figuring his friends can wait a couple of minutes. “Detective Gavin Reed, was it?” he says, holding out his hand. “My name is Connor.”

The man’s flush blooms into a bright red as he shakes Connor’s hand. “You recognize me, huh?”

“I could never forget a man who looks at me like that,” he teases.

“I--I didn’t--”

Connor laughs, crossing his arms over each other and leaning on the table. “Why else are you checking me out in a coffee shop?”

There is some level of frustration in the look he gets, but Gavin doesn’t appear too ruffled, scoffing before he answers. “What’s your last name?”

Connor blinks slowly. “What?”

“Well, you know mine, it’s only fair I know yours.”

“I got yours from Hank, so as it stands, I’ve given you more than you have me.” His lips quirk into a lopsided grin. “Navrylthiren.”

“Navrylthiren,” Gavin says, sounding it out slowly. The inflection is wrong, but it’s close. “Connor Navrylthiren.”

“Was that all you wanted? My name?”

Gavin bites his lip. “No. I got a couple questions, if you don’t mind.”

“And why’s a cop want to ask me questions?”

Gavin leans forward, lowering his voice. There’s just enough business in the place that their conversation should reasonably not be overheard if they’re quiet enough. “What do the scars mean?”

“What scars?”

Gavin gestures to the side of his neck with three fingers.

Ah.

That would explain why he keeps looking at Connor’s neck. He must have seen the gills, before. His neck is smooth as a human’s now, and this close, it would be evident that he isn’t using any makeup to hide it; they’re simply gone.

“That’s a curious question to ask a man you don’t know.”

“How much do you trust Anderson’s judgment?”

Now that’s a loaded question. The detective isn’t even trying to hide how obvious this is. “Is this about the case you two were arguing about?” Hank said the detective would be upset about it.

“No.” He shakes his head. “I mean, yeah, but it’s more than that. It’s about him, and--and I swear you had--well, nevermind that. Point is, I don’t know what the scars mean, but there’s obviously something to them. Anderson won’t tell me, but that just means I can’t do my job because I don’t have the information. I can’t help people or bring people to justice.” He raises an eyebrow. “That’s why I ask.”

“It’s a fair question,” Connor says, and it is.

The line between their worlds is a thin one, growing thinner by the day. It used to be forbidden for merfolk and sea elves to interact with humans, but with such a globalized human society and with such clever technology, that became harder by the day and the rules have changed drastically for most of those living close to land, quicker for elves and lake dwellers than for ocean mer. With the clandestine interactions between their species now--from interspecies unions to working relationships with aquariums and other businesses--it is only a matter of time until the whole of the surface world knows about them as more than myths.

What would Detective Reed do if he learns about them?

“It will be safer if you do not ask,” Connor says. Safer for all of them. They keep their secret and Gavin doesn’t stick his neck out. Yet.

And Hank officially works alone, no partner to watch his back. Just Connor, skulking on the sidelines.

That thought sits heavy in his mind.

“Not if I get caught up in a related case without realizing it, then someone else gets hurt because I was missing the pieces. How am I supposed to help people if I’m kept in the dark?” He sighs. “If you trust Anderson’s judgment, fine, but I need answers somehow, whether from you or God knows where else.”

Connor looks outside at people passing by on the sidewalk. His friends are still chatting and his drink is likely to be all melted--or drank--by now. “I don’t know if I can trust you,” he says. “You make a compelling argument, but I trust Hank. I don’t know you. You’re asking a lot of me. This goes beyond us and Old Greg; I can’t just tell you.”

Gavin’s eyes widen. “Old Greg? Is that the vic’s name?”

He winces. Too late to take that bit back. “I suggest you focus your attention on work assigned to you rather than what’s out of your depth.”

“Do the scars make you a potential target?”

“I think we’re done here.” He begins to stand.

“Are any of your friends in danger?”

Connor pauses, then settles back into the chair. His eyes dart towards the window.

Gavin’s right. They don’t know who’s doing this. If it’s a matter of gills like he implies, Markus could become a target. Unlikely, given that the perpetrator is a mer, but not impossible, assuming the perpetrator isn’t a surfacer themselves.

Hank, on the other hand…

He laces his fingers together. Hank’s been self-destructive and reckless since his son passed; Connor trusts him, but not always his judgment. Giving Detective Reed any information would endanger the man, and it’s likely that stood at the top of Hank’s decisions to keep him out, but Hank did appear to think favorably of him despite his personality.

“I do not know if I can trust you,” Connor says, “but I do not want Hank to investigate this without a partner. Can I trust you to watch his back?”

The answer is immediate. “Yes. If shit gets dangerous, I know we’ve got each other’s backs. We don’t abandon each other.”

Connor nods slowly. “He’s going to know you went behind his back.”

Gavin chuckles. “Oh, I bet he’ll be pissed off. Doubly so once he figures out he’s stuck with me, because I’m not letting go of this once I know what I need to.”

“You understand that any information I have is probably classified? Your superior may discipline you for this.” He spots North peering in after him and he gives her a little wave before returning his attention to Gavin.

“You act like Hank’s not gonna get pissed at you, too.”

He shrugs. “Better pissed off than dead. I don’t want to see him torn up like that. If any of the Deltheneve--” He snaps his mouth shut. _Yes, Connor, let’s just drop faction names to a stranger, shall we?_ “Detective, do you own a bathtub?” he asks, changing the topic. If he’s going to tell this man about everything, it could take a few hours, and he most certainly is not going to stay shifted for all that time.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“Er, yeah. My apartment has a bath, it’s… Why?” He looks almost dazed.

“How big?”

“Normal size? What the hell?”

“I like baths,” Connor says impatiently. “Is this your lunch break? When does your shift end?”

“Look, Connor--”

“Look, Gavin,” Connor says back at him in a perfect mimicry of his voice, and that puts a startled look on the human’s face for as brief as the two words were. “Answer the questions or you can go back to Hank to ask your own.”

He receives a glare in response, but Gavin sighs and takes in a slow breath. “I’m off at six.”

“Meet me here and drive me back to your place,” Connor says, finally standing. “We can talk then.”

“I… Alright. But no freaky mermaid getups, alright?”

Connor chuckles. “No promises.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for mild fantasy body horror.

It’s quarter to seven and Connor isn’t here.

Gavin checks the time on his car’s screen watching as the minutes tick by. He’s been doing so since arriving here, parallel parked across from the café, checking the clock every minute or two while drumming his fingers across his knee. A white cloud sits next to the digits on the display, happily proclaiming the evening to be eighty-four or twenty-nine degrees and partly cloudy.

He should have been clearer about when he’d be here. He ended at six, yes, but did Connor expect him to take an entire hour to arrive? It’s been half an hour and the other man is still missing.

He already ducked into the café and asked a barista ten minutes ago. No dice; Connor hasn’t been in since the lunch hour. Neither have his friends, from Gavin’s rough recollection of them.

If only he had the guy’s fucking phone number.

He sighs, tipping back his head and staring at the top of the car, counting to ten slowly, followed by another ten. There’s no reason to doubt himself. The conversation definitely happened. Connor was definitely there. They definitely planned to meet, and he’s not the no-show here.

He’s ready to leave, but… well, he’s put in this much time. Ten more minutes can’t hurt, he decides, flicking the key to turn off the car and pocketing it. He waits for a break in traffic, then exits and crosses the road, texting Tina as he does so with a request to check in on him in twenty.

The chances of him getting mugged are pretty slim, but he has to admit, this wouldn’t be a bad way to mug a police officer. Lure him out, give him reason to look around, and make sure his sometimes-partner isn’t in on it. Clever.

Gavin walks along the sidewalk, which is regularly busy for an early Friday evening. The sun is still bright but beginning to dip down and the bars he sees are busy, doubly so the ones with outdoor seating. He spots a few people he recognizes, but none are Connor, so he passes by without grabbing their attention.

He heads down the first alleyway he finds; it’s between a flower shop and one of the bars. Not an unusual spot for a smoke. There’s a dumpster on one side and a couple spots of graffiti. An uncomfortable odor sits in the air, made worse by the summer heat, and he walks past quickly, eventually emerging in the small lot out back.

There are only two cars here, along with another dumpster, this one meant for use by the tenants of the apartment complex to his right. Past the lot is a weedy strip of grass, leading to a gentle slope that dips into the canal, across which he can see a neighborhood.

No sign of Connor. Not here by the apartments, not back at the bars, and most certainly not back at the café. If he’s lucky the man will have arrived by now, but he’s not holding his breath.

He turns to leave through the same alleyway when he hears a wheeze.

He stills, listening closely. There’s the sound of birds and bugs by the water, and people going about their Friday afternoons…

Another wheeze. Heavy breathing might be more accurate, but Gavin isn’t going to be a stickler for these details. He looks to his left, and there’s Connor, sitting in the shadow of the dumpster.

He doesn’t look so good, and his shirt...

Gavin jogs over and kneels beside him.

His shirt is red over his stomach, the deep liquid soaking the plain white fabric. He’s folded the fabric over itself, pressing it against the wound (or wounds?), and both of his hands are stained red. He looks up at Gavin, face tight, looking like he’s focused heavily on breathing.

“Shit,” Gavin says, fumbling for his phone. “Hold tight, I’ll call--”

“Don’t,” Connor hisses, gritting his teeth and grabbing Gavin’s wrist with his free hand. There’s something odd about them, but that thought leaves Gavin’s mind right away because now there’s blood smeared on his wrist and Connor has _claws,_ grey and sharp, and he’s just mindful enough to avoid slicing his own skin. There’s a web of skin between each of his fingers, looking sickly with the blood marking them.

He definitely did not look like that earlier.

“You need an ambulance.” Gavin looks at his face--and there, on his neck, the scars are back. His fingers pause, hovering over the screen of his phone. “I don’t care if you don’t want one.”

“Detective.” There’s a fierceness in Connor’s eyes and his grip tightens. “I only need water and bandages. Get--Get me somewhere safe. Please. Or call Hank. I can’t--No ambulance. No hu--No doctors.”

“They won’t get you in legal trouble. Whatever you were doing--”

_“No.”_ It would be irresponsible to not call an ambulance. Very irresponsible and dangerous. Connor isn’t bleeding quickly, thankfully, but if he does bleed out or he gets an infection, Gavin will second-guess this moment for the rest of his life.

It might be something selfish in him that has him do as Connor says; if he loses this man’s trust, he loses all his information, too.

He dials Tina’s number.

 

* * *

 

Tina’s not happy.

“What the fuck, Gavin?”

“Really sorry, Tina, but this asshole didn’t want an ambulance,” Gavin says, carrying Connor into the house through the garage. At least the neighbors won’t have seen anything. “Where should I put him? You got towels or anything?”

“You said he was stabbed, not half dead!” She grabs the first aid kit she’d set on the table.

“Bathtub,” Connor says firmly. It looks like a struggle; he looks to be in quite a lot of pain, like he’s trying not to cry or writhe.

Gavin heads for the stairs. “What is with you and bathtubs? It really isn’t sanitary.”

“It’ll be good enough,” Tina says, right behind him. “What the hell happened?”

“I don’t know, I found him like this. He’s not exactly talkative at the moment.”

“So you just bring this strange man into my house--”

“It was closer than mine, and look at him--”

“And you don’t call an ambulance--”

“Yeah, an awful decision, but he’s here now.” Gavin shoulders open the bathroom and sets him down gently in the tub. “Alright, Connor, we gotta--”

Connor’s shirt is off and flung into his hands in seconds, leaving him standing there, gaping, bloody shirt in his hands. He impulsively tosses it to the floor, cringing at the amount of blood now on his hands, and looks back at Connor just in time to see him shuck his shorts and underwear off, much more lively than he’s been in the past half hour. Those get tossed to the floor as well, followed quickly by the bandage on his leg.

“You didn’t need to…” he starts to protest, but the words die as he sees the wounds on Connor’s abdomen. Deep scratches like he’s been mauled--just like the victim in the case Hank took off his hands.

“We can’t do this,” Tina says, horror in her voice. “We need a doctor.”

Then there’s a hideous crackling sound.

They both look at Connor, and the strange situation of having a naked, wounded man in Tina’s bathtub suddenly becomes the strange situation of having a naked, wounded man with distinctly inhuman proportions in Tina’s bathtub. It’s as if a new leg bone has grown in between where his ankle should be and where his feet now are, although his feet are starting to look distinctly not like feet, and the skin…

Gavin gags and turns away, spinning Tina around by the shoulder at the same time, a matching look of horror on her face. The cracking and crunching continues. They look at each other, wincing together at a particularly loud _snap,_ both wondering whether Connor needs some help (and feeling guilty for turning their backs on whatever nightmare this is), but no decision is made by the time the sounds subside.

The bathwater starts running and they both turn around, hesitant and concerned.

Connor’s upper half looks much as it did, but the claws look longer, somehow. His lower half…

Well, Gavin’s not so sure anymore that that’s a suit.

The tail--he doesn’t have any other word for it--is at least three times the length his legs were, the bulk unable to be contained in the bathtub. The bulk of it is a dark silver color, lighter at the front than the back, with darker stripes curling inwards from the back in a pattern more like a thylacine than a tiger. A fresh scar sits where his left leg was moments ago. Large, light silver fins are folded at the side of his hips, and the tail ends in the shape of an actual fish tail like one might expect on fictional mermaids.

Only this one isn’t fictional.

Connor looks relieved, like he’s in much less pain and no longer trying to focus on something. Less wound up, but still hurt, as anyone would be after whatever assault he endured. His wound isn’t bleeding profusely, but it is bleeding, and the jagged edges look painful. He meets Tina’s eyes. “Do you have painkillers or alcohol? Preferably both, if you have… what’s it called? The one that starts with ‘I’. I don’t often take medication.”

“That… doesn’t sound healthy. I’ll… I’ll get you something.”

Tina grabs Gavin’s shoulder and leads him out and down the stairs. “I need an explanation,” she says, grabbing the ibuprofen from a cabinet in the kitchen. “What the hell was that?”

“Uh.” Where to start? “You know the guy in the mermaid suit at Hank’s place I told you about? That’s him. He might know something about a case, so I was gonna meet him. Then I found him like that. I guess he’s, like, a real mermaid? Merman? Fish person?”

“You saw _that_ and you thought it was a costume?”

He shrugs weakly, watching her grab the cheap vodka and a glass and accepting them as they’re shoved into his arms. “I saw him for a second, alright? I thought, I dunno, he had an expensive costume and Hank had paid him for the night or something like that. I didn’t exactly want to think about it.”

“Am I dreaming? Is this some shared hallucination and we’re gonna wake up and realize we had a bad trip or something?”

“Tina, neither of us has anything that strong.” He leads the way back up. “We just gotta focus on what makes sense. Connor needs medical attention, and… Fuck. We’re the medical attention. I should probably call Anderson.”

“Why didn’t you call him in the first place?”

“He lives in the opposite direction. What was I gonna do, drive an hour to his place with this guy bleeding out in my car? I didn’t know he was a fucking mermaid!”

They’ve made it back into the bathroom, where Connor is cleaning out his wounds in the shallow water, a fresh white bar of soap stained as red as the water. He’s biting his lip, twitching when he touches the injury, and doesn’t look up when they enter. The tap has already been turned off.

“We got what you asked for,” Tina says, pouring out a couple of the painkillers onto her hand.

Connor rinses one of his hands in the water, however much good that does, and holds it out to accept the pills, popping them into his mouth and swallowing them dry. “Thanks.”

Gavin sits on the toilet lid and screws the cap off the bottle, pouring a glass. “You already knew I had questions, but, uh…”

“You have more.” Connor grabs the glass from him and knocks it back, drinking it in a couple of gulps before coughing, tears stinging his eyes. “Oh, that’s foul.”

Gavin takes the glass back, eyeing the blood on its sides before setting it and the bottle on the sink counter. He nudges the pile of clothes away from him and towards the wall, not eager to accidentally step on a blood-drenched shirt.

“So you’re a merman,” Tina says, leaning against the counter. They won’t be able to bandage him up until the injury dries. “Right?”

“Right.” Connor sets the soap aside, rinsing out the wounds. Gavin doesn’t know where to look: The injury or the impossible tail. “I can take a human form temporarily. It’s difficult to maintain under duress, and I did not have a knife on me, so…” He raises a hand, gesturing to his claws. “I’m impressed Detective Reed remained under the assumption that I was human.”

“I’m flattered,” Gavin says dryly. His voice comes out weaker than he means it to.

“I could either wait to be found or leave a trail of blood in the canal. I’m glad my decision turned out to be a good one.”

“So far,” Tina says. “You don’t know us.”

“I’m not naïve, but I have no reason to distrust either of you.” He pulls the plug, letting the water drain.

Gavin clears his throat. “By the way, this is Connor. Connor Navrylthiren. Connor, this is Officer Tina Chen.” He hesitates for a moment, not sure if he’s about to misstep, but he still has a million questions to ask. “Connor’s a human name.”

“So is Gavin, I believe.”

Tina cracks a smile. “He’s got you there.”

Gavin huffs. “Alright, smartass. I’m just curious, you know. What the hell you’re doing out of water and all that.”

“Busy getting mugged, apparently.” Connor replaces the plug and runs fresh cold water in the bath. He leans back, easing the pressure on his middle. “The naming conventions for Northern Atlantic mer are usually title-based. Navrylthiren is what I would be called if I ever returned; it’s both my name and a descriptor of my role. Before that, it was Vrylthuninav.” He grins, and this time Gavin knows his teeth are sharper than they should be. “Neither make much sense here and all the local mer adhere to human naming conventions. I chose my own name. I don’t know enough about humans to know whether or not that is common.”

“It isn’t, but some of us do,” Gavin says. “Sometimes your name just doesn’t fit anymore. So… How many humans do you know? You were hanging out with a couple earlier today.”

Connor shakes his head. “Those two are both mer. One was adopted by a human. Hank’s the only human I’m friends with, but he’s…” He trails off, and Gavin’s not sure whether to read that as an indication of their friendship or something else.

Tina leans forward. “Are those gills on your neck?”

“Yeah,” Connor says. “They’re gills.”

It clicks for him, then, that Hank’s scars aren’t scars at all, and yet Connor called him a human. “Hank’s half merman?” Gavin blurts out.

Connor chuckles. “No. I think he’d be insulted at the idea. He’s half sea elf.” His expression falls. “The dead man in your case, he’s an elf, too. Not half. They don’t have the ability to transform as we do.”

“That’s why Hank took the case,” Gavin says quietly. “Because I didn’t know about any of this.”

“He was killed by a mer. The claw marks, they’re unmistakeable.”

“Did one attack you, too?”

Connor looks away, leaning over to turn off the tap. “Yes.”

Gavin leans back, head swimming, eyes darting between Connor and the towels hanging on the wall.

There’s no way. Merpeople, sea elves, this weird as hell guy lounging in Tina’s tub… It’s absolutely ridiculous, but here Connor is, as real as he can get, looking like he got clawed by a lion and with a tail as fishy as… well, fish.

“We’re not dreaming,” he says. “Wow.”

“Looks like it.” Tina grabs the antiseptic spray and sets it on the side of the tub.

Connor takes it, spraying it on the cuts. “Thank you both for your help. I suppose it must be strange. Stressful, too, but I really can’t have an ambulance looking at me.” He closes his eyes, settling into the tub and shifting his entire body to reach a more comfortable position. “I can tell you more about the case later, but I need to rest now.”

“...in my bathtub.”

“I could drag myself to your living room, if you’d prefer. The blood would certainly add some character to your carpet.”

“Connor,” Gavin says. There’s something that’s been gnawing at him this whole conversation, something Connor mentioned earlier in the day. “Who are the Deltheneve?”

“Merfolk don’t like elves. The Deltheneve are a clan notorious for being particularly cruel, but it would be odd to find them this far inland. But I don’t think it’s them, not anymore.”

“Because of whoever attacked you,” Tina says.

Gavin follows that train of thought. “Someone you recognized?” He meets Connor’s eyes. “Who was it?”

Connor’s lips thin. “Vrylthuninav,” he says. “It could just be coincidence. Maybe he’s joined the Deltheneve. I don’t know.” He sighs. “Please give me space. We can talk later.”

 

* * *

 

Gavin calls Hank from the comfort of Tina’s couch. She’s grabbed them both a beer and turned the TV on, some drama playing at low volume. The semblance of normalcy is nice, but it doesn’t completely cut through the atmosphere of life-changing revelations.

The first call rings until it reaches voicemail, and he hangs up and tries again. The second time, Hank picks up.

“Yeah?” Hank answers. He’s probably home by now, lounging the same way they are, settled in front of the TV with his dog somewhere in the picture. Or is he making dinner? Does he cook?

Does he eat raw fish?

“Hey, Anderson. This is kind of important, so don’t hang up on me, okay?” He glances at Tina for reassurance. She’s definitely watching him, curiosity easing her frustration at the night’s events, but she doesn’t provide any sort of encouragement.

That’s fair.

“Alright, shoot. What’s going on?”

“You remember that case you took out of my hands?”

“Yeah,” Hank says. “You’re not supposed to be near it. What, you have a bright idea or something?”

“Looks like I ended up near it anyway. I have a name, a witness, and a survivor, and I need your help.”

“Hold up. A survivor? You sure this is the same case?”

“Look,” Gavin says. “The case is secondary. We’re at Tina’s house and I don’t know shit about what sort of first aid a mer needs, and I’m hoping you have some fucking idea before Connor gets an infection or something else goes wrong, because he looks like he knows what he’s doing but hell if I know if what he’s doing is right, and--”

“Connor’s there? He’s been hurt?” He can hear sound on the other side as Hank starts to move. “Tell me what happened,” Hank demands sharply.

“Connor got attacked and I found him in a parking lot. Said it was Vrylth--uh, Vrylth-something. Same injuries as the dead guy, except no knife wound. I got him to Tina’s place and now he’s in the bath. He’s in pretty good shape, conscious and coherent and all that, but I don’t exactly know a fish person doctor. I don’t actually know if he’s supposed to drink vodka, either.”

“He’s a lightweight. Just… make sure he stays conscious. I’ll be there ASAP. Text me Chen’s address.”

“Yes, sir.” Gavin hangs up. He texts the address as promised.

“Wow,” Tina says. “He didn’t even yell.”

“That’ll come later.” He pockets the phone.

“So… His name. Did you notice?”

Gavin nods. “The attacker? Yeah.”

“It’s the same as Connor’s used to be.” She sips at her drink. “A title. Kind of weird, isn’t it?”

“Honestly, I don’t know what to think of it.”

“Whatever it means, we have to be careful, Gav.” She meets his gaze. “If this is someone who’s going around murdering people, what does that mean Connor used to do?”

For all his lack of faith in humanity, he wants to give the victims and survivors the benefit of the doubt, but he can’t deny that Tina has a point. He doesn’t know anything about this new world that’s opened up in front of him. And Connor, as vulnerable as he looked earlier, still managed to fend off a would-be murderer with only his claws.

“Good question,” he says, picking up his beer. “Real good question.”


	4. Chapter 4

Connor wakes to Hank patting his face.

It’s not usually a good idea to wake a mer while in striking distance, and in a bleary haze Connor thinks he ought to lecture Hank on the poor etiquette and poor safety measures, but the moment he breathes to say something there’s a sharp burn searing across his abdomen. All that escapes his mouth is an “oof” and his eyes widen from slits to wide open.

“Stay awake,” Hank orders. He looks haggard and Connor can smell whiskey on his breath, and he wonders, through the red fog in his mind, what it is about the surface that makes people drink when things go wrong.

“Was I asleep?” Connor asks, words slurring together. He groans and dips down in the tub just enough to submerge his head for a moment, wetting his uncomfortably dry gills.

“Yeah,” Hank says when he resurfaces. Tina and Gavin are standing awkwardly at the door, crowding the bathroom entrance. “You tired yourself out and you’ve lost some blood. This is going to suck, but I’m stitching you up now. Chen, get him something with sugar. Reed, help me hold him still.”

“Oh,” Connor mumbles. The grogginess dulls his anticipation. “I don’t like this. Can we skip the stitching?”

“Nope.” There’s the sound of something inside a box on the floor beside the tub, and Gavin is next to Hank by the time the needle and thread are out. “I’m sure you’re gonna tell me you’ve dealt with worse, but you still need stitches, and then we can talk about whatever bullshit plan you concocted.”

“You’re the one who asked for my help.”

“I thought you’d know better than to bring this dick into it.”

“I thought you’d know better than to go into shit like this alone.”

“Gavin, hold him.” Hank situates himself on the edge of the tub and Gavin leans forward to awkwardly grab Connor by the shoulders. There’s not much leverage, but it’ll probably keep him from wiggling too much, provided he doesn’t try to claw at Gavin. At that thought, Connor wedges his hands between the folds of his tail.

Not that he’s complaining--about Gavin, at least. In another context he might not mind the man touching him this much.

Unfortunately, he’s feeling more alert and nervous as he wakes, but he schools his expression to something neutral. “I promise not to bite,” he says, and there’s a satisfying flash of concern on Gavin’s face before the needle digs into his flesh.

Hank’s right. It sucks.

By the time Connor’s all stitched up, he’s feeling a lot less anxious and a lot more sore, and any struggling has been involuntary jerks and twitches in response to the pain, which seems to have been inside Gavin’s comfort zone. Or perhaps not comfortable, but familiar.

“Is that it?” Connor asks as Hank withdraws, looking down at himself. The dried blood is kind of gross and he pokes at a glob of it, holding back a wince at the soreness.

Hank hands him a washcloth. It’s white. “Unless your back’s all clawed up, yeah, that’s it.”

Connor takes it and dips it in the water before wiping down his chest, taking care to be gentle, but the rough fabric still hurts. “Thank you. That felt almost as bad as getting mauled by my brother.”

“So he’s the new Vrylthuninav,” Hank says. “Fuck.”

“You don’t even know him.”

“Twins, right? So he’s probably like you but meaner.”

“Triplets, but you’re not wrong.” Connor sighs and looks up at Gavin, who seems to have forgotten the purpose of what he’s doing. “I’m not going to disappear if you let go of me.”

Gavin pulls his hands back like he’s been burned, and Connor might have smiled at that if he didn’t feel like he’s been pulled ten different directions in the past few hours. “Sorry,” he says. “So are you being hunted or something?”

“No,” he says, then hesitates. He doesn’t know why his brother is here, that’s true, but he does know his brother’s general purpose. “At least, I don’t think so. He’s got no reason to come this far inland, let alone to this side of the Atlantic.”

“Does it have anything to do with you being Navrylthiren?” Hank asks, and Connor grimaces. Hank doesn’t know what the title means--doesn’t know their language at all--but he’s always been sharp. If he hasn’t figured out the meaning by now, he’s at least on the right track. “Is he our murderer?”

“Is there anyone else who’s a suspect?” Gavin asks.

Connor sits up fully, careful of his wounds, and unplugs the tub to drain the bloody water. “I need space,” he says bluntly. The room is too small for this many people, let alone the tub trying to contain him, and he’s overwhelmed. It’s been a while since he last had a breakdown, but he thinks this is pushing it, no matter how well he appears to keep a lid on it. “Can I have a minute to breathe before we get into this?”

“As long as you don’t fall asleep again.” Hank stands and looks back at Tina, who’s got a mug of something warm-looking in her hands. “Give him that or he’ll be grouchy all night.”

“I think he’ll be that way regardless.” She steps forward, then frowns, handing the mug to Gavin, who’s still kneeling on the floor. “Keep him awake, will you?”

Gavin blinks at her. “What?”

“She means babysit him,” Hank says. He follows Tina out of the room, leaving the door open. “Call if you need anything.”

“Babysit me,” Connor mutters. “Rude.” He takes the mug from Gavin, who relinquishes it easily, and takes a drink. It’s hot, sweet, and tastes of chocolate and milk with far too much sugar.

“I mean, I can go,” Gavin says, glancing at the door.

“Mm. No. You’ll make a good dinner.”

Gavin snorts. “Usually I need to make a good impression before a guy wants a taste of me.”

“You haven’t made a bad impression. Hold this.” Connor hands back the half-empty mug of cocoa and starts the tap to refill the bath again. “I can’t imagine what life was like before you people had running water and electricity. Those are universal commodities, right?”

“Yeah. I mean, they’re supposed to be. The infrastructure isn’t good enough some places, but for the most part, yeah. Do you, uh, do you have electricity where you’re from?”

“Last I checked, Portugal was on the grid.” He manages a tired grin as he takes the mug and leans back. The water pounding on his tail is irritating, but tolerable. “Underwater, no. On land, I know my way around and I’m a quick learner, but I don’t often use digital devices. I like the internet, but it can’t be part of my daily life. My friends and I keep in touch through messaging apps and social media. It’s useful when we can’t carry phones.”

“Makes sense. Do you think you’ll get a phone when they finally get waterproof technology down?”

“I think the technology’s already there. Keeping a device from breaking under pressure isn’t, and I’m not sure it could receive a signal at the depths or locations I travel to.” Connor scrunches up his tail, moving it at an awkward angle but managing to shut off the tap with it. “I’ve got a question: Why were you embarrassed to see me at the café? It’s not an unusual place to bump into strangers.”

“Not strangers you’ve only seen naked in a friend’s house.”

“I was in the bath. Humans bathe naked, right?”

“I thought you two were fucking,” Gavin says. “Naked, door open, yeah. That’s weird for humans. Nudity is intimate. And I really didn’t expect to see you again, so I was just surprised, but now I know you’re not--well, I think you’re not--”

“We’re not.” Connor reaches over and sets the now-empty mug on the floor. “But I understand now. I mean, I know humans are sensitive to nudity, but not always when bathing.”

“I suppose you could say I thought there was something fishy about it.”

Connor flicks water at him. “I’ve heard all the puns before, Gavin. All of them. In at least five different languages.”

“I’ll bet Hank never lets up on those.”

“He never lets an opportunity go by.” Connor’s grin grows. “And neither do I.”

Connor grabs Gavin’s collar and pulls him a few inches closer, leaning forward until his lips are only a couple inches from Gavin’s. He lets go, watching the other man’s expression, and when he doesn’t lean back, Connor closes the distance and kisses him.

Gavin returns the kiss.

It’s slow and tender. Connor resists the urge to nibble--it would probably be in bad taste after his joke earlier--but it’s comfortable, soothing, and curious. Gavin tastes and feels very human, from the stubble on his skin to the beer he must have drank, and it’s regrettable when Connor finally has to part from him to relieve the ache of his wounds.

“Thanks for helping me.”

Gavin looks a little dazed. “Is that what that was?”

“It’s not how I thank everyone, if that’s what you’re asking. Only the handsome ones.”

“You’re not just drunk?”

“Impulsive, not drunk. There’s a difference.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m certainly not about to regret it,” Connor says. He fishes out the washcloth and pats down his front for any fresh blood. “But if you didn’t like it, I won’t do it again.”

“It’s not that--look. I feel like today’s been an entire out-of-body experience.” Gavin chuckles. “I mean, you’ve got a fish tail. I’m adjusting.”

Connor frowns. “I like my tail.”

“It’s a very nice tail. It’s… shiny.”

“Shiny.”

“It’s the best damn tail I’ve ever seen,” Gavin says dryly. “Point is, I need time to process shit and you need to make sure you heal up.”

“We don’t have time for that,” Connor points out. “We’ve got a killer to find.”

“Yeah, I’m not sure Hank’s gonna want to keep you on this.”

“If Nines is part of this, then I need to be involved. I know him. I know what he’s like.”

“Do you?” Gavin eyes his wounds. “Because it looks like he’d rather fuck you up than play nice.”

“I know what he’s capable of. I know how he thinks.” Connor’s voice cracks. “I just don’t know why he’s here or what he wants.”

“He tried to kill you!”

“And I’ll kill him if I have to!” Connor’s fins flare at his sides. “I’m not naïve and I’m not a coward. I love him dearly, but I will not hesitate to find and stop him if it means keeping others safe. Neither will I endanger others by pushing myself too hard, so don’t lecture me on that, either.”

“Geeze, I get it, I get it.” Gavin raises a hand placatingly. “It’s between you and Hank, then. Obviously you can hold your own enough to send him running, which is kind of terrifying, honestly.”

Connor’s posture deflates. “I don’t want to be terrifying,” he mumbles. He knows he can be vicious and violent, even a monster out of nightmares, and it’s easy to forget everything about himself that is strange or unusual when he’s so often surrounded by people he knows when he’s on land.

“Right now, you’re not,” Gavin says. “You’re just a moody guy in a bath.”

“I think I’m entitled to some moodiness.”

“Sure. Doesn’t mean it won’t get old fast.” Gavin leans against the tub. “Do you need help with anything?”

Connor sighs. The injuries still hurt, but he doesn’t think they’ll reopen if he’s careful. “You carried me earlier, right?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Help me out of here,” he says. “Put a towel on the floor and help me onto it.”

“Okay, yeah, no, that sounds like a bad idea.”

“Then I’ll do it myself,” Connor snaps. “Help me or not, Gavin.”

The human holds his gaze for a few seconds before rolling his eyes and standing to grab a towel. “Fine.”

“Thank you.”  
  


* * *

 

Getting Connor out of the tub is easier than Gavin expects. Less easy is helping towel him down, which is odd both for the fact that part of what they are drying is scales and that, despite the scales, this guy is naked. The bloody clothes are relocated to the sink, leaving a small puddle behind on the floor that hopefully Gavin doesn’t slip in. Connor is dried off in only a couple minutes, and before Gavin can stand again he’s pulled in close once more, Connor looking up at him with bright eyes.

“What?” Gavin says when nothing happens.

“It’s your choice.” Connor’s hand is on his, and he’s waiting very patiently, lying back on the towel on the floor. (His tail, it turns out, is very long all stretched out, extending another foot out through the open door.)

Fuck it, Gavin thinks, and he presses his lips to Connor’s. Strange or not, Connor is attractive and Gavin’s single. He doesn’t think kissing right now means they’re in some sort of relationship, given that they’ve hardly known each other for half a day, and besides which he’s not sure the logistics a relationship with an aquatic (amphibious?) person would entail, but for now he simply likes to feel Connor’s lips against his, the other man lying shirtless beneath him and showing off his impeccable form.

When they part, Gavin looks down at Connor’s physique with curiosity and interest. “Why aren’t you fat?”

Connor blinks at him twice. “Why aren’t _you_ fat?”

“No, I mean, like.” Gavin groans, berating himself for talking before his mind has the chance to catch up. “You can go deep underwater, right? Isn’t it cold? Wouldn’t you need some padding like a seal or something?”

“I don’t know if you’ve realized,” Connor says, “but I’m kind of magical.”

“I’m serious!”

“How did you think I transformed?”

Gavin pauses, mouth open, but he can’t find the words for an adequate retort. “I don’t know.”

“Now you do.” Connor sits up then and winces, moving a hand to his stomach, where a bead of blood oozes out from a wound. “Will you carry me, or should I make my own way to where the others are?”

“You should be resting,” Gavin says, but he doesn’t push it. “Will you transform again?”

“No. It would take too much energy. I might pass out if I try.”

“Is it safe for you to be out of water like this?”

“It’s unpleasant, but not unsafe,” Connor says. “I can slither if I need to, but it’s awkward.”

“And let you stain Tina’s carpet? Pass.” Gavin slides a hand under Connor’s tail and braces his back with the other, getting a solid grip before he stands and gauges how heavy he is now.

Heavy, but not too much so. He can do this.

Connor wraps his arms around Gavin’s shoulders and, with a mischievous look, pecks his lips once more. It almost looks like he’s trying to hide any humiliation he has with this whole situation. “Now don’t drop me.”

“Thanks for the confidence.” Gavin makes it out of the bathroom walking sideways, and navigates the stairs that way too, and his arms are straining by the time he makes it to the bottom, being very careful to neither bump Connor into the wall nor step on the fin at the end of his tail as it drags along the ground before them. Hank and Tina look at them in alarm but Connor waves at them in greeting, and Gavin manages to make it to the newly-vacated sofa and settle him down gently, head at one end and tail flopping over the other.

Hank pinches his nose. Gavin can’t help but stare at the marks on his neck, knowing now that they’re gills. “You were supposed to stay put.”

“Sorry, Lieutenant.” Connor doesn’t sound sorry at all. He laces his fingers together over his chest. “We have some things to discuss.”

“Hank can probably manage most of it if you need to rest,” Tina says, sitting on another chair hesitantly. She glances at the windows, but the curtains are already shut. “You’re not going to pass out again, are you?”

“Unlikely. I’ll be fine, Officer Chen.”

“Just Tina is fine.”

“Tina, then.”

“I’m gonna grab some food before we talk,” Hank says, heading for the adjacent kitchen. “Delivery drone got here not long ago. Anyone else hungry?”

Tina and Connor respond in the negative, but Gavin’s starving. “Got anything for me?” he asks, plopping down next to Tina.

“Yep.” Hank shuts the fridge, a plastic bag in one hand and two prepackaged sandwiches in the other. He holds out the sandwiches and Gavin grabs one, and the plastic bag is shoved in Connor’s arms. “So here’s the plan: We get everyone caught up, starting with the basics and then the case. Tina, you’re not officially on this one. Gavin, if you’re going to insist poking your nose in this, at least do it while following my lead. Got it?”

“Yes, sir.” Gavin feels a swell of pride and confidence at the thinly veiled invitation to be reassigned to this case. If all it takes is learning about sea people and magic, he’s ready to give it his all.

Across from him, Connor reaches into the bag and pulls out a grey shrimp, shell and legs still on, and pops it in his mouth, chomping down on it and chewing with his mouth open. Naturally, being from the ocean, it makes sense that Connor would eat raw seafood, but Gavin is suddenly not certain he wants to eat his own sandwich as Connor reaches for another, a shrimp leg clinging to his lips.

“So,” Hank says after a few bites of sandwich. He’s pulled over a chair from the kitchen area to sit on. “Merfolk and sea elves exist. Got our own cities and cultures and everything. Elves usually live on land because of humans, but mer can’t keep legs for long so they stick with water. We don’t usually get along; Connor and me being friends is kind of an anomaly. The guy that got murdered was an elf, with marks consistent with a mer’s claws. The murderer may or may not be Vrylthuninav.”

They’re silent for a moment before Tina speaks. “Who’s that? Other than just being Connor’s brother. What’s the title mean?”

“Something like ‘protector of Vrylthun,’” Connor says. He fiddles with another shrimp’s shell with his claws. “Or maybe hunter, but not in the sense of hunting for food. He’s like a cop and the laws he enforces are bullshit. Navrylthiren, my title, amounts to something like traitor. I would be found guilty of treason and butchered if I ever returned. So I’ve never gone back.”

“So it wouldn’t be normal to hunt you down like this?” Gavin asks. He files away the fact that Connor hunted other mer--and probably killed some. That’s a question for another time.

“Why waste the resources? What would be the point? It’s been decades.” Connor drops the shrimp back into the bag. “There’s a lot we could speculate on. Maybe he’s no longer Vrylthuninav and he’s here to exact some form of retribution because he hates me. Maybe he or Vrylthun have aligned themselves with someone who wants me dead.”

“The Deltheneve?” Hank suggests. “Or is that a stretch?”

“It shouldn’t be ruled out, but I don’t see Vrylthun aligning themselves with them. If it is them, it’s more likely that Nines abandoned his post. Became Navrylthiren.”

“A lot can change in a few years, let alone decades,” Tina says. “They could be tying up loose ends.”

“Yes, but then I wouldn’t be the only one targeted.” The expression on Connor’s face dips to something panicked as realization washes over him. “Phone. Someone. Now.”

The other three scramble for their phones just as Hank’s goes off, ringing loudly in the room. He answers and Connor ends up in possession of Gavin’s phone, but simply clutches it as he watches Hank with concern as the other man paces and speaks in curt phrases.

When Hank ends the call, he looks grim. “There’s another victim,” he says, looking at Connor with a stony expression. “A mer this time. Still alive, but hanging on by a thread.”

“North?” Connor breathes.

Hank shakes his head. “They said he looks like you.”

“Oh.” Connor lets out a shaky breath. “I mean, I did a number on Nines, so--”

“With brown eyes.”

The screen cracks under his grasp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience with this fic! I picked up some big bang projects over the summer which you can find on my profile: Patched Up, Coconut & Sandalwood, and a hell burns beneath my skin (and your hands are cold). I'm not picking up any more projects so this should be updated more regularly now until it's complete.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think! I love hearing how people feel about the fic. What you like, what questions or hopes you may have...
> 
> You can find me in the [New ERA Discord](https://discord.gg/2EKAAz3) or Convin Discord, or on twitter as @gildedfrost
> 
> I am not seeking critique at this time.


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